


Real or Not Real?

by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon!Stiles, I wrote this in tandem with 3B, So all similarities are accidental
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky/pseuds/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the after effects are too difficult to manage, the trio tries something supernatural, albeit dangerous, to fix it. Something goes awry, but when do their plans ever work out? Besides - 2 out of 3 should be considered a success, right? But for one, the lines between illusion and reality blend even more, settling to 'Possible Death.' Oh, okay - 'Imminent Death.' T for Language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When is a Door Not a Door?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm posting this older story that was originally on Fanfiction.net that I wrote in the beginning of Season 3B. It shockingly has a handful of similarities with it - which were entirely accidental. I'll include my original notes alongside, so you can see my thought process as I go along.
> 
> This was my first novel-size TW fiction and recently I've had some people ask for me to put it on AO3 for reading. So here it is! I hope you enjoy it. Keep in mind: it was written DURING 3B, so has none of the Season 4+ information in it. Also, I did not include Malia. I also realized it's my very first TW fanfiction as well! Crazy stuff...
> 
> Notes from when I wrote it:
> 
> "Hey! This is my first Teen Wolf fanfiction, so be gentle! Someone on Tumblr asked for an extended scene after Stiles' nightmare and I quickly made one, but then realized how much I loved writing it! The premiere has me stoked, so I thought I'd do a longer fic to pass the time.
> 
> Now, I don't expect this to be the route the show takes it at all, but I had this idea when I was thinking about how the darkness can affect each of them – and what would happen if it manifested in one person?"

"Not to sound like a broken record here, but do we all remember the last time you all did this?" Isaac drawls, leaning against the wall.

"It's hard to forget when you _keep reminding us_ ," Stiles snaps, rubbing his hands together.

It's not like he could forget anyways.

Stiles notices Isaac's eyes flit toward Allison ever-so-slightly, even though he knows the gesture isn't missed by Scott. He can see Scott's jaw clench as he stares straight into Deaton's eyes, pretending not to notice. Stiles sighed. Before he's be mildly annoyed by the creation of this love triangle. Stiles might've even commented on something. But if anything, it was a welcome distraction for what he was staring at.

Rubbing his hands together, Stiles stares at the tubs of ice water. He closes his eyes. _Is this a dream?_ He asks himself, wishing there'd be an answer. There never was.

 _That_ was the terrifying thing. It wasn't the fact that he was hallucinating at all. It was the fact that he couldn't trust anything. His eyes darted everywhere he went, he felt as though he was on the brink of a panic attack at any second, his vision wavered from time to time – it all happened all the time. Who could live like this? Who could survive?

Well, if Kira was right, no one.

"Too bad I had to torch this Polar Plunge experience on Yelp," Stiles says, trying to break the tension in the room. Between everyone ignoring the tubs of ice water, Scott ignoring Isaac, Allison ignoring Isaac, Isaac ignoring Scott and Lydia examining her nails as she grinned to herself for no longer being the crazy one, he felt the need to break the silence. It didn't fall like his usual jokes did, because nothing of this was funny. And no one was even trying to laugh. Stiles reaches his hand out to the side of the tub, trying to calm his fingers from quaking. He shivers when his palm presses against the cool steel, his body shaking. "I mean, great build up, but horrible after effects, amirite?"

"Stiles," Scott breathes, but Stiles can't help himself.

"It's not that I don't think you're a very hospitable—" Stiles struggles for the word as he gestures at Deaton. "Ambiguous Supernatural Vet Man. I'm just giving you a few critiques so you can improve your experience for future guests. We all know that a little constructive criticism never hurt anyone."

"I have some constructive criticism for you," Isaac says. " _Shut up._ "

Stiles glares out of default, but he knows he's rambling. He can't help it. His gaze keeps catching sight of the water and he's trying to convince himself that having a panic attack wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't help anyone. He has to keep talking to get all the energy out, otherwise it'll manifest in his hands.

"Is there any other pleasant ways to kill us?" Stiles asks and a few people groan. "I get it – drowning and hypothermia, a tried and true method. But has anyone considered perhaps a sleeping spell? I know it's very Disney, but werewolves exist and I think—"

He stops.

It happens like it always does.

A sign. A sign he wouldn't pay attention to under any normal circumstance. Something about getting your animal shots or loving dogs – Stiles didn't know. Seriously didn't know. All the letters weren't making sense. His hands gripped the sides of the tank.

"Stiles—" He hears, but it sounds far away. It's not annoyed like before, but he's too focus to figure out the emotion.

"Don't let them in," he mutters to himself, but he isn't aware that he's doing it. "Don't let them in,"

The letters start dripping from the poster.

His grip tightens. Stiles feels a catch in his chest, like someone's punctured his lung and he can't get them to quite fill right. He thinks someone's beside him, but the letters. The fucking letters – they're falling to the floor. "When is a door not a door," he repeats to himself quietly. There needs to be words to fill the silence. "When is a door not a door, when is a door not a door? Do not let them in. Don't let them in."

The hole in his chest gets bigger. It feels like a void and darkness is peeking around the corners of his vision. "Don't let them in." He has to fill the silence. Stiles always has to fill the silence. "When is a door not a—"

" _Stiles!"_

Someone grabs his wrists and yanks him away from the tub, throwing him against the wall. Stiles slams against the back wall, blinking as he tries to get his vision into focus. His breathing slows and when he's calm enough, he looks up to a face he doesn't expect. Isaac.

Isaac stares at his hands before returning his gaze to Stiles. There's something behind his eyes – is it fear? Pity? Stiles isn't sure.

"Dude!" Scott cries, grabbing Isaac's shoulder and yanking him around. "What the hell was that? You could've seriously hurt him or sent him further into his panic attack!"

"I-I don't know," Isaac says, looking back at his hands. "He wasn't breathing a-and I thought, maybe if I-I shock—"

"Scott, it's fine," Stiles says, albeit shakily, as he steadies himself to stand. A few people gesture to help him, but he's up before they can. "It worked, didn't it?" He rubs the back of his head. "Can't a guy go a few days without a head injury?" He tries to joke.

No one laughs.

Isaac gives him a mournful look. "You guys really have to do this, don't you?" He asks quietly. "This – This is real and it's bad, isn't it?"

No one answers. No one has to.

After a few resigned seconds pass, Deaton clears his throat. "If we're going to do this, we better get started. Now, as you know, this may not achieve the results you want." Stiles stares at the floor. He's heard the spiel before. No human can live like this. A human isn't prepared for the strife. They weren't built strong enough.

Maybe it was him who wasn't built strong enough.

The three take their places besides the tubs. "There is a different chemical balance in this bath and we are on a time limit. Because you've already died and been brought back, we have to do this under the human body specifications. If you are not revived within an hour, we'll have to bring you back."

"An hour?" Allison asks. "That's all we get?"

Deaton nods solemnly. "As you can see, there is great risk. You could be doing more harm than good if things go awry. That's why, for the last time, I have to ask you. Are you sure you want to take such a drastic measure?"

The three look at each other. Sure, there's fear. But there's also resignation.

"We do this." Scott says definitively. "That's what we do. We may not always have the best plans and they may not always go how we hoped, but we try. We'll never stop trying."

Stiles smirks. "We're impudent little bastards that way."

He tries to keep the smirk on until he's underwater. If he's going to die, he'd like it to be with some semblance of himself.

**XXX**

"No!" Stiles screams. "No! No, no! Wake up, Stiles! Wake up! This isn't real!"

"Son!"

The Sherriff is in the room quicker by the night. Before Stiles can flail out of bed, his father has him in a vice-grip, pressing him against his chest. "I got you, kid. I got you." He whispers in his son's ear. "It's okay, I got you."

Stiles grips his dad's arms, his entire body trembling. "They were going to get in. Deaton was going to let them in."

"It's not happening, Stiles."

"I-It was going to get worse!" He wails, his entire body trembling. "It was going to get s-so much worse!"

"It's not, Stiles!" Mr. Stilinski says forcefully. "You are fine. You are here and you are fine!"

"They were going to come in!" Stiles whimpers. "When is a door not a door?"

Mr. Stilinski closes his eyes. If he had a dollar for every time Stiles muttered that riddle out the past few weeks, he wouldn't need to be so worried about losing his job. "There's no door, Stiles. It's shut. It'll always be shut as long as I'm here."

Stiles grips him and shuts his eyes, hoping, for once, the darkness would be a comfort. "They were going to come in."

**XXX**

Stiles doesn't even look at the signs on the walls. It's to the point he can't decipher what's real or not real and, even though he hasn't entirely given up on trying, he doesn't like the reminder every day. So he ignores the signs that paper the school hallway and their jumbled letters.

"Dude, you look like crap." Scott says when he sees Stiles.

"Hello Stiles, how are you? I'm doing great Scott, thank you for being such a considerate friend." Stiles murmurs as he heads to his locker. With once glance at the jumbled symbols, he sighs. Lifting the lock up to Scott, Stiles presses his head against the locker while Scott fiddles with the dial. Stiles hears the click and grimaces. How did this become his life – his own friend has to unlock a door for him?

"Seriously, though." Scott says quietly. "This whole not sleeping thing is getting out of hand. You look wrecked."

"That's because I _am_ wrecked, Scott." Stiles murmurs, putting his books away. "I don't need a recap about my less-than-Chippendales appearance because I'm gloriously aware, thank you."

"Stiles—"

"Have you seen Lydia?" Stiles asks suddenly. He's not sure why, but the impulse to see her hits him like an electrical current. It's strange – he's been in love with her for years, but this was more than yearning. A part of him needed to see her, so desperately, it felt like his heart was going to explode from his chest.

Scott shrugs. "Not yet. She's probably driving Allison to school, you know, with everything."

"Yeah," Stiles says, not convinced. He gazes around, but still no sight of her. "Maybe they stopped for coffee or something."

"Yeah, dude, that's probably it." Scott says eagerly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's just get to class and get this day over with."

Stiles glances around the hallway once more, as if he's not entirely convinced it's real. To be honest, he isn't. "Right. Class."

**XXX**

He can't pay attention more than usual. Stiles blinks from time to time to encourage his presence in this world, but only receives worried looks from Scott. Stiles has to angle himself away so he doesn't keep seeing that face Scott uses when he's trying to get you to open up to him. Sometimes the dog similarities are too much with those puppy dog eyes. Good thing he'd built an immunity up against it for years.

Stiles finds himself gazing around for Lydia, even though she isn't even in this class. He can't get over it – this desire, this feeling to see her. It's like something is pulling at him. He needed to see Lydia. He needed to see her right now, otherwise it felt like his chest would explode.

"I need to use the bathroom." Stiles states.

Not a question. He's out of his desk before the teacher can even protest.

Stiles bursts into the hallway, peering around. "Lydia?" He calls. It's stupid for him to do so and he knows. He feels foolish doing it. He waits for people to poke their heads out the door at his stupidity, but it never happens.

_Creak._

Stiles whirls around, the sound of a door opening causing panic to course through him. "Lydia?" He calls again, but it's weaker. His chest heaves.

The lights in the hallway flicker. Or, maybe they don't. Maybe it's because his breath is shortening. Maybe it's because dots are forming around his eyes.

He sees her.

Stiles sprints down the hallway, every breath more difficult than the last. It seems like it takes ages to reach her, even though he knows logically it's not true. Not that logic really ever helped him in the first place.

She's standing there. She stares at him. _At_ him. Her glassy gaze hits his chest and he waves a hand in front of her face. "Lydia? Are you alright?" He shakes her shoulders a bit. "Lydia, seriously, are you okay?"

She doesn't say anything.

The lights are definitely flickering.

Stiles turns around, trying to keep calm. This is no place to panic. This is no place to panic. This no place to—

_WAKE UP._

Stiles stares. All the posters – all the signs he'd been deliberately ignoring all day – only have one sentence on them. Once sentence written over and over again.

_WAKE UP._

_WAKE UP WAKE UP._

_WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP._

"Oh my God," Stiles breathes, stumbling to remain on his feet. "Oh my—"

Lydia's eyes awaken. Stiles stares in fear as she scrunches her face.

Emitting a high-pitched, terrifying scream, Lydia covers her ears. All the letters on the poster start to shake, crumbling as if made from ash. Stiles clamps his hands over his ears, watching the letters disintegrate and pool on the floor, covering the linoleum tiles with blackness.

"Wake up!" He screams. "Wake up, Stiles!"

The blackness creeps closer to him and Lydia. Removing his hands from his head, Stiles reaches out and pulls Lydia close to him. Her scream pierces his ears, but he makes not move to cover his ears again, but just holds her close.

The scream stops.

Lydia leans in close and whispers gently, "Wake up Stiles."

**XXX**

" _NO!"_

Stiles leaps to his feet.

Surrounded by white, he's never felt so alone. He can feel the energy pulsing in the room, like he's not supposed to be here, but it's exactly where he needs to be.

He maneuvers around, trying to get a grip on his breathing. It takes him several minutes before he recognizes the three tubs. Even more before he notices the doors.

He careful steps closer to the tubs, afraid of what lies within their depths. Peering over the edge, his heart palpitates when he sees the still bodies of Scott and Allison within the depths of their water. They look dead. Well, he supposes they are, but it's different to see them. He can understand why Isaac didn't want to do this again. Peeking in his tub, he's surprised to find it empty.

That's when he realizes he's completely wet.

Placing his hand on his chest, he stares at the doors. "This is real," he murmurs to himself. The doors sit at the head of each tub, each door slightly ajar from its necessary resting place. "I hope to God this is real."

Stiles stares at Scott and Allison. "Wake up!" He shouts, gripping the sides of their tubs. "For the love of God, wake up!" He shakes them, but they remain underwater. Their eyes do not open. They do not wake.

Stiles stares at his door. It's barely open. It's frustrating that such a simple crack would wreak so much havoc on his life. He makes a step toward it, but stops when he sees Scott and Allison again.

Groaning, he rushes over to Scott's door. It doesn't budge upon impact, so he anchors himself against Scott's tub, screaming as he pushes the door. Ice water pours on his back as he does and he cries out. But he doesn't stop. Not until he hears the resounding slam of the door in its frame.

The same technique is used for Allison. It takes even longer, her door pushed a little further than Scott's. By the time he's finished, Stile's is panting, his muscles aching everywhere. He presses his cheek against the ground, the cold floor nice.

One door left.

Stiles reaches out, dragging himself across the ground to his door. Wrapping his fingers around the side of his door, Stiles uses it to pull himself forward.

 _Creak_.

The door nudges open.

"Shit," Stiles curses when it opens wider. "Shit, shit, shit."

He scrambles to his feet, watching as the door continues to move away from the frame. Nothing is on the other side but an immense blackness – devoid of  
an color that would make it friendlier. It looks like the end of everything.

Stiles presses his back against the door and tries to get it to move. It does so begrudgingly, but after several minutes of heavy exertion, it's still wide open.

Darkness surrounds his eyes. "No," Stiles breaths, but his hands are already falling. He can hear his labored breathing as if it's the only sound in the world. "No, please."

His hands slide from the frame. He can't hold up his head. He doesn't get another plea out before it gets dark.

**XXX**

"I have researched many ways to kill people and not get caught, so help me, Stiles Stilinski!"

Stiles winces at the shrill voice. He coughs and a loud smattering of sighs echo around him. "Dammit, Stilinski!"

Stiles blinks a few times and finds himself overwhelmingly surrounded by everyone. "'Sup guys? Why are you invading my personal space so elegantly?"

"Yup, he's fine." Isaac chuckles.

Everyone smiles.

"I take it you were as unsuccessful as we were?" Scott says, offering a hand to his best friend and helping him up. Stiles finds it odd that he's lying on the vet's table and gives Scott a look. "Dude, you weren't waking up. After our hour was up, Allison and I got out just fine, but you wouldn't wake up. Deaton was about to go all crazy vet on you."

Stiles smiles weakly. "Well, you know I have a flair for the dramatic."

Allison looks down. "So this was pointless."

But there's something different about them, Stiles notices. They're standing up straighter, their eyes brighter. In fact, Allison has color in her cheeks for the first time in weeks and Scott's smiling freely.

"That was real." Stiles mutters to himself. He can't shake the vision of his open door from his mind and his gaze falls to the ground.

"You didn't answer my question," Scott asks again, but Stiles is barely paying attention. "I guess it didn't really work for you either?"

Stiles looks at all of them. "Wha – oh, no. Totally pointless. It was a nice nap, though."

Finally, some people laugh.

Except one person. One person stands in the back, his arms crossed, studying Stiles very carefully. Deaton arches an eyebrow, looking from Scott and Allison back to Stiles. Stiles purses his lips. The message is very clear. He lie was very strong.

It only didn't convince one person.

 


	2. What Comes Down, But Never Comes Up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Notes:
> 
> "My goal for the rest of this is to try and trick you/Stiles about what's ACTUALLY going on. Don't worry – it'll be grounded (not one trick after another) and will have a sense of plot, but a sense around how he sees it and the fears he has about the door in his mind now being wide open.
> 
> Also, I realized I should explain: the title isn't a vague reference to Mockingjay. I think I've figured out what I want to do plot-wise and it'll refer to something Stiles will decide to do this chapter, hopefully to help him sort everything out. Shall we begin?
> 
> Quickly- One thing I noticed in the show is, when Stiles was looking at his history book, I think the words were scrambled like an anagram (all the letters were there to spell 'Allies and Axis'), so I'm gonna use anagrams when he can't read things to make it easier."

The clock shines _6:46_.

There's a light tapping on Stiles' door, so he closes his eyes, pretending he's been in a quiet stupor this entire night, dreamlessly sleeping. He wishes.

As if he could sleep after their attempt to close the doors to their minds. All Stiles could think of when he shut his eyes was the immense darkness on the other side of his wide-open door, sitting at the edge of the frame like an army waiting for battle. And, if he understands the true meaning of what he did, the war is about to begin.

"Kiddo, time to wake up or you'll be late for school" His dad calls, opening the cracked door. Mr. Stilinski had a habit of cracking it on his way to his own bedroom, afraid of sleeping through any more night terrors his son may have. The cracked door scared Stiles a while, but now? Doors slightly ajar are the least of his worries.

He tries to take comfort in the fact that perhaps, if he had some semblance of luck, that Scott and Allison may be able to return to their own lives. They might have a darkness still, but maybe it won't seep into their subconscious anymore. He tries to take comfort, but finds none. It has nothing to do with indifference or how he feels about either, but his own fear in the matter.

That was the truth, wasn't it? He was so damn afraid, he couldn't even feel happy for his best friends. That's where he was in his life and didn't know how to erase it. "I'm a terrible person," Stiles breathes, pulling his shirt over his head.

His breath catches.

Running his hands along his skin, he flinches at the sight of purple and blue. "What the—" Stiles murmurs, rushing over to the mirror.

Splotches of purple and blue run up his sides. Stiles is afraid to touch them, because he isn't sure if this moment is real. But right now, the pain feels real. So instead, he steps closer to the mirror, placing his fingers against the glass and covers up the bruises.

He didn't even notice them when he was lying in bed. Sure, he was aching, but he just thought that was a result of being terrified all the time. Or the cost of living in nightmares.

That isn't the most terrifying thought, though.

As Stiles drives to school, something flashes through his mind and he attempts for the rest of the drive to push it out of his senses, but to no avail. The scariest thought isn't that his dreams are turning violent. It isn't even that this could mean that he was losing the battle and moving on to the last progressive stage of Barto.

It was that, if this wasn't a dream and those bruises were real, he doesn't remember how he got them in the first place.

His mind was now keeping reality from him, hiding it so it blurred the line of reality even more.

He hops out of his Jeep, a stiffness coming over him. BLANCH SOLE I displays where the BEACON HILLS sign once was and Stiles stares at the school.

What is real?

What's the point if it isn't? Why would he go to school again and again, having the same conversations with people, if he would just wake up and it's over? Why would he put himself through that?

The thought has his mind reeling, the sign before the school swirling a little. He grips his chest, his breathing coming a little shorter, sweat starting to form on his forehead.

"Stiles!" Someone shouts and they clap a hand on his back. The action startles him and he notices his fists are clenched, his palms red where his nails dug into his skin. "You okay, man?"

Stiles blinks when Isaac stands next to him. "W-What – oh, yeah Isaac. Hey."

Isaac studies him carefully, before saying, "You don't look alright. You've been acting a little strange since yesterday. I hope I didn't hurt you when I pushed you into the wall."

_1…_

Stiles shakes his head, his gaze fixated at Isaac's hands at his sides. "Huh? Oh, it's—"

_…2…_

"—not a problem, I—"

_…3, 4, 5…_

"—know I was being super—"

_…6,7,8…_

"—annoying—"

_…9. 10._

He sighs. Isaac has all of his fingers. "I was just a little nervous to die for the second time in a month."

Isaac frowns. "Stiles, this is real." He states.

"What? Yeah, I know."

"No, I don't think you do." Isaac says. "And I'm here to tell you this is real. You and are having a conversation."

"Dude, I _know_." Stiles grits his teeth, his annoyance creeping up on him. "I was just—"

"Guys!"

Scott jogs to join the two, a large smile on his face. Stiles tries to remember the last time he saw it, but can't. He can't even thinking of smiling as a function. Was it getting hot outside? Why can't he take a normal breath?

The air was suffocating.

Scott's jaw twitches when he sees Isaac and gives him a curt nod. "Wow," Stiles mutters, blinking a few times to get the darkness around his eyes to go away. "You guys must be a real treat to live with right now."

Scott throws him a look. "What were you two talking about?"

Isaac quickly says "School" as Stiles says "Food."

"God, that's not conspicuous at all," Stiles groans, rubbing his hands down his face. "Isaac here felt the need to tell me that this is happening in real time, because apparently, I'm crazier than a straw."

The two of them stare at him.

He blinks. "What? That wasn't even the crazy talking – you know, like crazy straws that loop all around?" Still nothing. "You know what? You both suck, I'm hilarious."

He mumbles to himself as he pushes past the two wolves, but Scott calls out after him. "Wait, Stiles! Deaton wanted me to tell you that he wants you to stop by after school, if you can."

Stiles stiffens. Without turning around – he's not entirely sure he can keep his facial expression neutral at the moment – he asks, "Did he say what for?"

"No, he just said it was really important."

Stiles grips the straps of his backpack and murmurs, "I'm sure he did."

**XXX**

"Hello?" Stiles calls out, opening the door to the veterinary clinic. There's clanging from the back room, so he assumes it's okay to let himself in the back. But when he does, he hesitates in the doorway.

"Stiles?" Scott asks, rearranging some of the vials on the counter. "Oh yeah, I forgot you were coming over after school!"

Stiles looks from Scott to Deaton, who's visage is dripping with concern. Seeing Scott there made him panic; the last thing he needed was Scott to find out about his 'limbo state' and the problems that arose from it. "I-I can come back," he states, gripping his backpack uneasily. "I'll just catch you some other time."

"No, Stiles, wait." Deaton says and Stiles doesn't know why he does. He doesn't want to talk about it at all, least of all with his best friend standing in the room. How would he be when he finds out that his mental door is wide open – and Stiles couldn't even be happy that his best friend's was shut? "Stiles, I think you know why I asked you here."

Stiles clenches his jaw. "I'd really prefer not to discuss this right now."

"Oh," Deaton states. "So would you rather you wait further and let the repercussions of your actions eat you alive?"

Stiles whips around, his eyes flashing. He almost yells at Deaton to shut up, but he catches Scott's eye and hesitates.

Scott peers between both of them. "Okay, am I missing something?"

"You did this on purpose." Stiles snaps. "You waited until he would be here."

"Okay, I'm definitely missing something."

Deaton remains calm, even though Scott's looking at him expectantly and Stiles is attempting to formulate every amount of wrath he can to intimidate him. Which, to be honest, isn't much. "Stiles, I need you to walk me through what happened during the ritual. What did you do?"

Stiles purses his lips, but doesn't say anything.

Scott turns to him. "You said – you said it didn't work. You said that you didn't see or do anything." Scott's looking between the two of them. He presses further, "That's what you _said_ , Stiles. That's what you told me."

Stiles grits his teeth and looks at the ground. "You did this on purpose."

Deaton remains stoic. "I believe he has a right to know what you did."

Stiles waves his hands. "Then why doesn't Allison have a right to know what I did!"

"So you did do something!"

"Allison doesn't work here." Deaton states. "Stiles, you woke up in your subconscious state, didn't you? You went back to the room and your door." Stiles doesn't answer, so Deaton peers at him curiously. "But you didn't close your door, did you?"

Stiles' lower lip trembles when he thinks of the imminent dark on the other side of his door. "…no."

Scott gasps. "What the hell, dude? Why didn't you shut your damn door when you had the chance!"

Stiles can't bring himself to respond. Instead, he doesn't something he tries to avoid on most days. He stares at the signs he can't read and he looks for reasons why this might be a dream. The windows look darker than usual. Some of the animal eyes glow.

But is it real, or is he hoping it's real?

"You closed Scott and Allison's instead." Deaton finishes.

The silence that settles over the three of them is suffocating. Stiles feels his hands tremble and he closes them into fists. He can feel Scott staring at him, but he refuses to look up.

"Stiles—"

"Dude, it's nothing." Stiles says hastily. "I just couldn't get to my door in time. It didn't work out. That's that." He continues to avoid his gaze. "But, hopefully you two should be totally fine, so that's good news. I mean 2 out of 3 is a passing grade. 66%. I mean, if we could get the conviction rate for crimes around here to 66%, I'm sure my dad would be able to keep his job."

"Stiles—"

"Please, can we just not talk about this?" Stiles bellows and Scott grows quiet. He stares at his best friend and Stiles doesn't blame him. He can't remember the last time he shouted at Scott in all seriousness.

"That's not all you did." Deaton states. "I noticed it the second you came to. The reason it took us so long to wake you up."

Something flashes in Deaton's eyes. For a second, Stiles is afraid of him. No, afraid didn't cover it.

Petrified.

The room feels like it's swallowing him. Are the walls curving toward him? Did Deaton's eyes just flicker to the vials by the medicine rack?

"You opened the door wider, didn't you Stiles?" Deaton asks. Stiles can't bring himself to answer, but he steps back.

When did the door close?

"You opened your door. Now your mind is wide open." Deaton states. "The darkness has a free host. All they have to do is realize it."

"W-What are you talking about, boss?" Scott asks, his shoulders tensing at Deaton's words.

Stiles is heaving. Is he breathing? Maybe not.

"Do you understand what that means, Stiles?" Deaton says, taking a few steps closer to him. Stiles' quivering hand reaches for the door, but it's locked.

Great, this door is locked. Fucking doors.

"Do you understand the danger you're bringing here, Stiles?" Deaton asks. "The danger you are to your friends? To your father?"

Deaton picks a syringe off the counter as he moves closer. Stiles shakes the doorknob behind him a few more times, his heart pounding. "Do you understand what needs to be done, Stiles?"

"P-Please—" Stiles whimpers. "I-I can close my door. I-I'll figure out another way."

Deaton looms closer to him, popping the lid off the syringe and bring the needle close to his face. The silver piece of metal gleams and Stiles winces. Needles. He definitely isn't breathing now. "Do you know what you do to a sick dog, Stiles? A dog that is so far gone, there's nothing that can make its life better?"

Tears start to drip from his eyes. "P-Please, p-please d-don't—" but he can't muster any further breath to plead anymore. Why isn't Scott stopping him? Why is he by himself with this?

Why is he so alone?

"You put it out of its misery."

**XXX**

"NO!"

Stiles screams, jolting awake. " _No, no, no!"_

He doesn't think he's been breathing because every attempt is like sprinting a marathon. His entire body shakes. Stiles rolls and falls to the ground, clutching his head. "P-Please don't kill me," he sobs. "Don't kill me."

He screams dwindle, but not from lack of trying. Every time he opens his mouth, it feels like a werewolf is running his claws down his throat. He waits for his father to burst through the door and constrict him, but he realizes tonight he's got the graveyard shift and so Stiles is alone.

Stiles is entirely alone.

With shaking hands, Stiles reaches up to his desk, knocking items off as he desperately tries to find his phone. He winces as a few things hit his head, but he can't get up off the ground. When his phone is finally found, he tries to type a few numbers, but can't get his fingers to work. Instead, he simply presses redial.

The phone seems to ring forever.

"H-Hello?" A sleepy voice on the other side of the line asks.

Just like that, he doesn't feel quite like he's going to die.

But he can't answer, either. His breaths are too erratic, too close together to fit a word in there – even a syllable.

"Stiles?" The person's sleepiness vanishes. "Stiles, is that you? What's wrong?"

A whimper escapes his throat as a response. The person on the other line starts talking a mile a minute. "Stiles, listen to me. Listen to me right now. I need you to focus on your breathing. I can't get over there quick enough, so you're going to have to do this."

"…I…can't…"

"Yes you can, Stiles. Yes you can." The person says sternly. "You actively live in a world with werewolves and somehow have no died. You can do this."

It's not helping. His body is freezing. Everything's going cold. The air isn't air anymore; it feels like Mercury, filling up his lungs and dragging him down.

"Remember that time in third grade when you convinced the teacher to let you sit next to me?"

Stiles strains to here more, but the memory seems so far away.

"You finished all your assignments in an hour, slammed the papers on her desk and said, 'Mrs. Kolton, I think that my work should be rewarded.' And then proceeded to sit your smug little ass in the chair next to mine? That was the first time I ever realized what a complete dork you were."

Stiles' mouth twitches. "You… you… you didn't even talk… to me."

"How could I? You were so weird."

"…not much has… changed." Stiles chokes out, but breathing's coming a little easier. His room doesn't seem quite as dark.

"No." The person chuckles. "But then again, a lot has."

Stiles' body calms. His breathing is still a little erratic, but it's under control. He lies on his back on the ground, afraid to move.

"Thanks, Lydia."

"You're welcome, Stiles."

The two don't say anything for a moment. Before Lydia can make a move to hang up, Stiles says, "Do you think you could just stay on the line? Please? You don't even have to talk. Just stay on the line."

"Okay."

Stiles listens to her breathing get lower and further apart. He listens to Lydia Martin fall asleep. Oh, how he dreamed of that sound for years. Even though he wished for the live action version, live acoustic track was just fine. Fine enough for his legs to settle. Fine enough for his restlessness to ease.

Fine enough for him not to notice the droplets of blood on the carpet, staining right where his mouth was seconds before.

**XXX**

"…Stiles? Stiles? _STILES!"_

Lydia shouts and Stiles bolts upright. "Huh – what?"

He peers down at his phone. When the realization hits, he frantically puts the phone to his ear. "Lydia – hi!"

She chuckles. "It's time to get ready for school. I thought you'd appreciate the alarm."

Stiles blinks, putting his head in his knees. "Oh yeah, thanks. My dad usually wakes me up, but he must still be at the station."

Stiles keeps his head in his knees for a while. He likes to think that it's preparation. Preparation for the exhaustion to come. Preparation for the new day of trying to figure out what's real

Preparation for his loneliness.

"…how's his impeachment case going?" Lydia asks carefully.

Now Stiles wishes he could just stay in this position all day. "Not good."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

"I'll see you at school then?"

"Yeah, see you soon."

_Call Time: 4 hours and 32 minutes_.

Well, that'll take some explaining.

As soon as Lydia hangs up, it occurs to Stiles how big his room is. He only covers a small fraction of the space in there. It's not something one usually notices, but he does today. He takes up such little space and all he's in is a room.

Shaking his head, he tries to eliminate his thoughts from his mind. He flips through his phone, noticing several missed texts from Scott. Frowning, with the thought of 'what could possibly be wrong now?', flitting through his mind, he opens them.

_Scott: DUDE. Deaton says you never came to meet him._

_Scott: You forget?_

_Scott: Why aren't you answering your phone?_

_Scott: Everything okay? Where are you?_

_Scott: STILES. CALL ME BACK NOW._

Stiles peeks at his phone. Ten missed calls and a handful of voicemails.

But that's not what bothers him.

So Scott _did_ tell him to see Deaton. That happened. That was real. Given, of course, that this was real. He just didn't go.

No, the nightmare in the veterinary clinic wasn't real because, theoretically, he's sitting here breathing.

Theoretically.

Stiles stands up, his legs a little shaky beneath him, like he's forgotten how to stand. He needs normalcy. He needs to be who he was before the limbo.

Stiles Stilinski needs a plan.

**XXX**

When he arrives at his destination, Stiles stares at the building. Not school. No, not school. He'll have to learn about algebra and other nontranslatable facts another day.

He hops out of his Jeep at stares at the Hale house. It's so vast, especially knowing no one lives there. Even when he opens the door, he half-expects Derek to leap out of the shadows, demanding to know why he's trespassing on his house.

But Derek doesn't come.

"It's not like anyone lives here anyone," Stiles says to himself, trying to quell his fears. It doesn't work.

Tossing his backpack on the ground of the living room, Stiles pulls a few journals out. He flips through pages of them with his scratchy handwriting.

_"March 14_ _th_ _– Classroom started doing sign language"_

_"March 17_ _th_ _– Confined in a locker"_

_"March 1_ _st_ _– Kira explains about demons"_

Entry after entry, dream after dream. He rips them out, spreading them across the decrepit coffee table.

Before his mind starts jumbling the letters, he has to move quickly. He doesn't know how many precious moments of sanity he has left.

Taking out a few blank sheets of paper, Stiles walks over to the wall with some tape and a pen. Writing in bold letters, he writes separately:

**REAL**

**NOT REAL.**

The clock on the wall shines _6:46_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A/N: How's everyone like this? I hope you' re enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! So, Stiles is now trying to utilize his talents as the planner/researcher – but only can do so every once and a while before the letters mix up. And yes, Lydia is the last person he called (or who called him) – but what was it about? And how can he be sure of what he deems as 'real' or 'not real?'
> 
> This is all coming up! Be ready for more Stiles and Isaac bro-ing it up (I don't know why, but I think they should be best friends), some asshat Daddy McCall, goddess divine Mama McCall, and more to come!
> 
> Please leave a note/review if you have a second! It makes my cold heart melt."


	3. What is Broken Every Time It's Spoken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Notes:
> 
> "This is just way too much fun to write, holy cow. I rewatched the 3A finale because I couldn't quite remember all that went down, but it gave me an idea that will cause almost 100% of you to hate me. I kinda hate me too… But thank you so much for all your comments! *snergles all the readers in a non creepy way*
> 
> Are you ready for the next installment? I want you to know, this'll sorta be split up into 2 parts: Once I reach the part of the story when Stiles is a bit too far gone, it's going to switch POV to Scott and the others, so you'll all know what it's like to WATCH Stiles, as opposed to what it's like BEING Stiles.
> 
> Sound good?"

It was one hour, twenty-two minutes, and thirty-five seconds before the letters started to change.

Stiles contemplates just going home, but figures some sort of appearance at school would probably be beneficial.

It's funny, Stiles always liked school. As much as he found it difficult to pay attention and as much as he was restless in his chair, he liked learning. He loved to read. He just didn't feel that the curriculum covering everything he wanted. So, of course, he would have to alter it to fit his own needs. But now?

Now school seemed like a never-ending nightmare. Every time he walked through those halls, he did with the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe things would go back to normal. Maybe he would walk into the school and feel safe. The walls wouldn't have blood stained under layers of paint and there wouldn't be a body count in the double digits. School could go back to being safe.

Stiles opens the doors to school and no such feeling washes over him. Instead, it's like he can feel the death radiating off the walls. The blood seeping through the paint. The bodies hidden in the shadows of the school.

All he can feel is darkness.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?"

Being accosted when he walks into school wasn't even close to being on his list of things he wanted to happen today. Stiles blinks a few time before Scott is at his side, he eyes flashing. "Hey Scott," Stiles says wearily. His head hurts more than usual. It's like all that time he spent desperately trying to focus and it drained him of any energy he had to exist in the remaining part of the day.

Scott looks like he wants to throttle him and his indifference. "Where the hell were you last night? Deaton said you never showed up and then Lydia comes to school and said she had to talk you down from a panic attack?"

He couldn't help it. Stiles felt a twinge of betrayal with Scott's words. "She… she told you that?"

"Yeah, but I had to basically force it out of her. She was freaking out when you didn't show up for first period." Scott placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stiles, are you alright? Are the dreams getting worse?"

Yes. "No, no, I just—" Stiles looked around, as if the walls would give him the lie he so desperately needed. His mind wasn't working. He always had an answer. Stiles Stilinski always had answers.

He feels so helpless. He didn't care about the sleep. Hell, he didn't care much about the reading. Stiles could find a way around it. But what he did care about was the soul-crushing notion that everything he thought he was – everything he prided himself in being – was being stripped away from him along with his sense of reality. Everything about him was melting away.

And he didn't have the sense enough to step away from the flames.

It took him a moment to realize a tear slid down his cheek and he hastily wipes it away. "I-It's nothing, Scott." Stiles says, closing his eyes. "I'm not sleeping and it's catching up with me. That's all."

"It's not." Scott states.

Stiles stares at him. Scott's voice is gentle – not pressing, like he felt like he would straight up Alpha-slam him against a wall. He looks in his eyes and for a moment, Stiles is sure.

This is real.

This is real and his best friend is speaking to him.

For some reason, he knows.

"You're going to be okay, Stiles." Scott says. "We'll figure out this whole darkness thing. We'll find something new. We'll try again."

This is real. And for moments he knows are truth, he needs to take advantage of them.

"No, Scott, I'm not." Stiles says. "You don't get it. Something happened that day and I – I don't think that there's—"

The bell rings.

Stiles looks up at the bell and it's all it took. All of his confidence and desire to explain vanishes.

He can't put this on anyone. The darkness is not a burden to place upon friends.

Scott stares, waiting for the explanation that never comes. When Stiles moves to go to class, Scott grabs his arm. "Wait, what were you going to say?"

Scott can do so much without the darkness. For the first time in weeks, Stiles feels a strong sense of calm. "Nothing. I wasn't going to say anything."

**XXX**

The class feels normal. Stiles doesn't think he's ever focused so hard on what the teacher's saying before in his life. He's even afraid to blink. Because if somehow he nods off or lets the darkness pervade his mind, he'll have to guess again.

Stiles is so sick of guessing.

The teacher even catches his eyes a few times and gives him a strange look. He must have a deranged look on his face, but he _will_ keep his eyes open. "Mr. Stilinski, are you… okay?" She asks, hesitating before moving back to the blackboard.

Stiles wishes she'd just say the words aloud instead of mixing the letters up. "No, I'm just super pumped about the laws of thermodynamics. As we all are, I'm sure."

The teacher squints. "I can't tell if you're mocking me or not."

Stiles widens his eyes. "That's a very important distinction."

"Principal's office, Mr. Stilinski."

"Wha—" Stiles exclaims, waving his arms in disbelief. "I am literally not doing anything. And yes, that is the first time I used that sentence with a clear conscious."

"Office."

Stiles groans, grabbing his textbooks as he saunters out the door. He barely makes it down one hallway until he spots a familiar face, staring intently at her locker mirror. "Hey, Lydia!" Stiles calls out, waving. She glances up at him, but quickly puts her head back down.

Obviously, the office will need to wait.

"Lydia!" Stiles calls out to her, rushing over. She turns to face her locker. "Lydia, can you tell me why you told Scott about last night? Because, to be honest, that kinda sucks. I'm really trying not to involve him in my crazy and you telling him… is everything alright?" She still hasn't looked at him. He looks at her hands, a makeup compact tight in her hand. "Lydia, you always look awesome. I don't understand why—"

Then he does. Lightly under her eye is a almost-concealed bruise. Stiles stares. "Lydia, what… how – who did this to you?" He settles on, his voice shaking.

"It's nothing."

Stiles slams his hand against a locker. "Dammit, Lydia, tell me!"

Then it hits him. There's only one person she wouldn't tell him about. There's only one person she would keep this a secret from him. Stiles' voice is low and venomous. "Did… _he_ do this to you."

Lydia finally faces him and seeing just the slightest imperfection on her face makes the blood rush from his face. "It's not a big deal, Stiles."

"Not a big deal? Not a big deal? Did you really just say that?" He exclaims. "Yeah, if you definition of 'not a big deal' means a massive deal! Like, the United States being severely in debt to China is less of a big deal than this. I'm gonna kill him." Stiles whispers to himself. "I'm going to freaking kill him."

Lydia places a hand his shoulder. It doesn't help. "Please, just leave it alone."

With that, she walks away.

"Lydia!" Stiles cries, but she doesn't turn around. "Lydia, I'm not done with this conversation!"

Lydia walks into her classroom.

Stiles has to sit down. The wrath is beating like a drum in his head, his mind pulsating with how much he wished he was a werewolf right now. He would rip his face off. Not that it would matter so much – there is a spare.

The bell rings and Stiles takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself down. It's not working. People start to bustle in the hallway, but Stiles blinks a few times, only looking for one person. He only needs one.

He sees him.

Stiles rises to his feet, watching Aiden put a few books away in his locker. Lydia may as well have not sad anything because there is nothing on this earth that would prevent him from leaving it alone.

Stiles marches over there, the thought that Aiden was a werewolf clear from his head. Grabbing a fistful of his collar, Stiles slams him against a locker. "I'm gonna fucking _kill_ you!" He shouts.

Aiden's too surprised to make a move, but everyone in the hallway stops talking. Before Aiden can even ask what the hell is going on, Stiles takes a swing at him. Then he proceeds to resist the urge to swear. Holy shit, his face is hard. But he doesn't care. He takes another swing. And another.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Someone shouts.

Aiden takes Stiles' hesitation to shove him off. Stiles jaw clenches as he move menacingly closer, every part of his body feeling like it was on fire. He cocks his arm back, but someone grabs him. "Stiles, stop it, what are you doing!"

Stiles glances to see Lydia grabbing his arm. "What do you think I'm doing, I'm—"

He stops.

Her face is perfect.

Stiles blinks. Every time he does, he sees exactly the same. No bruise. No injury. Just Lydia. Just Lydia staring at him, terrified. "Wha—" he breathes, his fist dropping.

Then someone else's strikes him in the face.

Stiles stumbles backwards, almost dropping to his knees. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Aiden cries, grabbing Stiles by his shirt cuffs. He throws another punch, except this time there's considerable force behind it and it leaves him reeling. Slamming him against the opposite lockers, Aiden knees him in the chest, causing Stiles to choke.

Aiden brings his arm back and Stiles flinches, but it never comes.

"What is going on out here?" A teacher shouts as Ethan drags Aiden away from Stiles.

Stiles collapses to the ground, rubbing his face. His fingers come back covered with blood.

"Stiles, what were you thinking?" Lydia cries, kneeling next to him.

He takes one last look at her, hoping the adrenaline made him miss the bruise. Made him miss her injury.

There was nothing.

**XXX**

"Stop squirming, Stiles. You're just as bad as you were when you were little." Ms. McCall dabs Stiles' face, blood staining several gauge wraps behind her.

"Sorry," Stiles says, his eyes darting around. "I'm not a big fan of hospitals."

"I know, sweetie. I know."

Stiles swings his legs on the examination table like he did when he was little. It made him smile a little. Everything was easier then. Well, maybe not. Watching his mother die isn't something he could ever relive. But classifying pain is like blowing bubbles and expecting them to stay with you: pointless and unsuccessful.

"Stiles, good Lord, what were you thinking?" Ms. McCall breaths as she presses her fingers against his rib cage. He squeaks when she does so, his chest heaving. "You've got some pretty nasty bruises. No lacrosse for you for a week or so."

Stiles shrugs. Lacrosse isn't exactly high on his priorities list these days.

Ms. McCall moves toward the door, but instead of leaving with his test results, she closes it. "Alright," she says when she returns. "You're going to start explaining and you're going to do it now."

Stiles bites his lip. It's just the two of them. He's already told someone once, but that wasn't real.

"If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?" Stiles says in a soft voice.

Ms. McCall's eyes light up, surprised, as if she didn't expect him to agree. "Of course."

"No, I mean it. You can't tell my dad – or even Scott."

Her eyebrows narrow. "Okay, Stiles, you're scaring me."

"Promise."

She sighs. "I promise."

Stiles licks his lips, the nervousness making his skin crawl. "I don't know how much Scott told about the darkness and the doors, but we tried to close the doors opened to our mind a few days ago."

She nods. "Yes and he said it didn't work. Nothing changed."

Stiles is having a hard time looking in her eyes. He has the key to her house on his keychain for God's sake. "I, uh, lied. That day about what happened. I lied to everyone." He hangs his head. "I got to the doors. I closed Scott's and Allison's. But…" Stiles winces. "Something went wrong and mine opened further. It's wide open now.

"I'm losing my mind, Ms. McCall. I can barely determine what's a dream or not. Like this right now? I'm not even sure. Maybe I'll wake up in a few minutes or an hour. Who knows?"

Ms. McCall's hand is over her mouth, tears dotting her eyes. "Stiles—"

"And I'm getting more scared. At school today? There wasn't even a moment."

She grips his arm. "What do you mean?"

Stiles' feels the darkness coming over him like a wet blanket. His skin feels cold, like he's back in the ice tub, ready to drown. Maybe he is. "I have a moment of realization. Either when I wake up or right when I'm about to, I know it's a dream. I know what happened wasn't real. But this time," he says, gritting his teeth. "This time there was no moment. What was happening was real, and then it wasn't, and then it was again. I thought he hurt her, Ms. McCall. I had a conversation with Lydia minutes before I saw him and he hurt her. But then? Then when she came over, she wasn't hurt.

"So somehow, I slipped between reality and my mind without realizing it. I didn't even notice it happening." Stiles' hands start to shake, so Ms. McCall takes them in hers. She motions for him to calm his breathing. He didn't even realize it was erratic. "The line is blurring.

"Ms. McCall, I'm going to die."

A few tears slide down her cheeks. "No, honey," she says, wrapping her arms around him and bringing his head into her chest. "You're not going to die. We'll figure something out."

Stiles stays there for a while, the warmth welcome. That's the thing. Ms. McCall is warm. She's so warm. He clutches her back, trying to control his tears. Unsuccessfully, but trying.

"I feel so alone." He says.

"You're not, sweetie. No matter what your mind tells you, you are not alone."

Stiles brings his head to her shoulder so he could properly hug her, but is startled when he sees someone staring at them in the window.

He stiffens.

Ms. McCall doesn't seem to notice, but his chest starts to heave. He's shaking.

Those eyes. Those eyes staring at him through the hospital window. The person places a hand on the window, her hazel eyes striking through him. She's mouthing something to him, but Stiles can't make it out. He can't move. He can't think.

"Mom?"

**XXX**

He wakes up screaming.

Stiles only screams for so long before he feels someone tackle him. His entire body aches when they do so and so his yelling strangles into a pitiful howl, the person locking their grip so he can't do anything.

That's when he realizes he's not at home.

Stiles flails frantically, trying to get out of the stranger's grip, but has to give up after a while. "Shit, you're much stronger than I ever would've given you credit for." The stranger breathes when Stiles lands an elbow in his side. "No wonder Aiden was pissed."

"Who are you?" Stiles bellows, pushing against the arms. "Let me go!"

"Dude, Stiles, it's me. Isaac."

"Isaac?" Stiles repeats. The surprise is enough to calm him down. As he turns his head behind him, Scott bursts through the door. "Scott?"

Scott peers at his friend, his eyes wide. "God, Stiles. You didn't tell me they were getting this bad."

Isaac loosens his grip on Stiles, but doesn't move away. "What am I doing here?" Stiles asks, panting. He scoots a little away from Isaac, clutching his chest. There's the feeling again.

He's underwater.

Isaac looks at him pitifully. Stiles hates that. "You came over to spend the night because your dad's working nights again because of the impeachment? He heard about your panic attack last night and asked if you could stay here."

Even as Isaac's explaining, Stiles tries to remember. He tries to put that memory into place, but it's not there. He can't even find a whisper of it. But sure enough, there's his backpack. And he was in a sleeping bag. Well, theoretically. The sleeping bag is unzipped and kicked under Isaac's bed.

Footsteps grow louder and before Stiles can hide, Ms. McCall is in the room. "Everything alright?"

Scott nods at his mom, his eyes weary. "We got it under control."

"I-I'm sorry," Stiles mutters, grabbing his head. "I shouldn't make you guys deal with this. It's bad enough my dad has to—"

"Hush, Stiles." Ms. McCall kneels by him, lifting up his head so she can take it in her hands. "We are here for you."

Chills run down his spine. "Did we have a conversation earlier today?" Stiles asks after a moment. "In the hospital?"

Ms. McCall frowns. "Sweetie, you didn't go to the hospital." She runs her hands down his face to his chin. "But maybe you should, just to make sure everything is okay. I mean, it's hard to explain to a principal how an ordinary case of teenage fight could be problematic, especially when one's a werewolf."

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. His mom's eyes haunt him when he does so, so he squeezes tighter to try and hide them. She was there. His mom was standing right there.

If this was a contest, he wouldn't even be competition, let alone winning.

_Not real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original End Notes: 
> 
> "A/N: …yes. I brought Claudia Stilinski in it. *hides from everyone* And yes, prepare for more.
> 
> I know the show is adding more supernatural elements, but I'm going for a more metaphorical darkness: like the darkness that already resides in his mind is manifesting itself. So everything – his mother, father, uselessness, etc. is going to play a factor here.
> 
> I really love reading your guys' thoughts! So if you have a little bit, please do leave a note! It makes my heart oh so happy. And makes my pen quite motivated… haha!"


End file.
